Provocatively Placed Mobiles
by Jayda Morgana
Summary: Sherlock asking John to fetch his phone out of the coat he was wearing was nothing new, but out of his rear trouser pocket? Now that was just plain unfair! One-shot, beginnings of Johnlock, and a (sort-of) prompt fill.


**_Here, have some fluffy Johnlock! Special thanks to my aunt for such a clever prompt :D_**

* * *

"Pass me my phone."

John didn't even bother to look up - he was deep in another blog entry, after all, and could scarcely allow himself to be distracted. Especially not when the detective in question surely had the phone on his person.

"Get it yourself, you lazy arse," he grumbled, pecking away at his computer keys.

"Can't. Busy."

Now John looked up - what in the world could Sherlock be so preoccupied with? By all appearances he was just lazing about on the sofa, limbs splayed, pout firmly in place. He'd have some excuse, though, probably puzzling out a case of some sort.

_Oh, sod it,_ John thought, crossing the room and standing above his friend. _I'll do it just this once if he'll let me type in peace._

"Where is it?" he asked.

"Front trouser pocket."

"Uh ..." John felt decidedly uncomfortable. He'd pulled it out of coat and jacket pockets before, but never one so close to, well ...

Then again, where had he _expected_ it to be? Sherlock was wearing his shirt and trousers, nothing more. John chastised himself for not drawing these conclusions earlier.

"Any day now, John," Sherlock grumbled, closing his eyes and steepling his fingers.

John reached in and pulled out the phone, far-too aware of the way his hand grazed that lean hip through the trouser fabric ... the strong, thin leg ...

Sherlock found himself startled, too. He hadn't expected himself to be so, well, _affected_. The touch, though momentary, had a positively electrifying effect on him. He forced his eyes to stay closed, hoping desperately that his cheeks weren't burning.

John was upset with his lack of proper reasoning, but Sherlock felt twice the humiliation.

"Mm, thank you, John," Sherlock murmured as the mobile was dropped into his open palm.

John shuffled away awkwardly, blushing like mad, refusing to look back at his friend. He had no idea why he was so embarrassed. All he'd done was fetch Sherlock his phone ... in a sense. Besides, they were just friends; how could this sudden awkwardness be explained?

John gave in once again and glanced up at his flatmate. He found himself entirely unnerved, as though something had been awoken in him. He'd always known Sherlock to be good-looking by most people's standards, but suddenly everything was different. Suddenly John was noticing those hips, those slender thighs ... the ones he'd touched, albeit momentarily ...

Suddenly John saw what the others did, and perhaps even more.

John, naturally, wasn't the only one who'd had a realization. Sherlock could no longer focus on the case. Despite how uneasy John had made him feel, he discovered he'd liked the sensation of John's hand, in such an intimate area (well, close enough to one, anyway). And, despite this general unease, he wanted John's hands there again, and perhaps in other places, too.

And so Operation: Awkward Phone Location was set to commence, right then and there.

* * *

The plan was, for the most part, going smoothly. Over the course of the next week John willingly fetched Sherlock's mobile from a number of locations: by his feet, his chest, and even on that bizarre occasion when Sherlock had (perhaps accidentally) dropped it on his face mid-text.

Sherlock, however, had no idea if John was picking up on the signals; he wasn't exactly the master of seduction, after all. So when his latest idea came to him, he decided John would have to be quite obtuse not to get the message. The plan was nothing short of perfect. It would test John's deductive reasoning and, at the same time, the lengths he was willing to go.

Now, if only Sherlock could find the bollocks to follow it through ...

* * *

"Jhtohn? My phthone, plthese."

"Sorry, what?" John looked up at the prostrate figure before him. Sherlock's face was buried in a pillow, his tight little arse high in the air. Well, perhaps that was an exaggeration. The arse was, at any rate, tight, and John couldn't seem to stop staring.

Sherlock lifted his head for a moment. "I said: my phone, please."

"Uh, yeah, and where is it?"

"Trouser pocket."

"You'll have to turn over."

"Mm, no. The rear one."

John's breath caught in his throat. What the hell had he just heard? Sherlock wanted him to fetch his phone from his back pocket - i.e.; the one covering the very arse in question? No. No no no no _NO_.

But when would he ever get the opportunity to place his hands there ever again? Granted, he'd barely get much of a feel in, but it hardly mattered, really.

As John approached, he caught sight of something wholly unexpected. Sherlock was smirking into the pillow, but only momentarily. Damn the man; he knew _exactly_ what he was doing! He'd been playing John like his precious violin, all while feigning obliviousness. John didn't know whether to be excited by this idea or upset. If Sherlock knew, maybe he felt the same way. Maybe Sherlock was enjoying this just as much as John was.

If that was the case, well, two could play at that game.

With a small smirk of his own, John slipped his hand into the trouser pocket, his fingers lingering a second too long, before he procured the phone, sliding it slowly out, allowing his fingers to graze. God, if Sherlock didn't realize what was happening, he wasn't as observant as he always claimed to be.

Just as John was removing his hand, close to giving up hope, he heard a small whimper. He looked up, startled, to find Sherlock completely gaping at him, his green eyes flickering, lips parted in what could only be described as shock.

"You-you-" Sherlock spluttered.

"I'm not used to hearing you at such a loss for words," John said, grinning. He kept hold of the phone, considering. "Do you like how I've turned the tables?"

"But you - I didn't realize -"

"Really? I would've thought you'd have picked up on it sooner." John laughed, enjoying his moment of power. "Now, as far as I see it," he continued, arms akimbo, "You're going to have to do me several favors before you get your phone back. I can't just be fetching it off your arse forever, you know."

Sherlock sat up, leaning back. Legs spread. A self-assured grin on his face.

"Is that so?" he said, his lip curling mischievously.

Oh, so now they were fighting for dominance, were they? As Sherlock was so fond of saying, the game was on, and now the stakes were higher than ever. John, deciding that hardly anything could be considered audacious on his part anymore, plopped down on Sherlock's lap, wrapped his arms about his neck, kissing the consulting detective right on the mouth.

Some doubtful part of him wasn't expecting Sherlock to reciprocate (all of this still seemed too good to be true), but Sherlock, of course, did. He kissed back with a passion John hadn't been expecting, warm and fiery and soft, all at the same time.

"Jesus," John muttered, feeling the phone drop from his hand and fall in between the sofa cushions.

"John, you are absolutely atrocious at picking up on hints," Sherlock purred between kisses.

"Oh? At least I'm not in a puddle whimpering because someone touched my arse!"

"I was obviously playacting-"

"A _very_ convincing performance, indeed," John said cheekily. "I don't think I've ever heard such an uninhibited noise in all my life."

Sherlock's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "_Really_. Well, there's more where that came from," he said, working his tongue back into John's mouth.

The more the ex-soldier thought about the past week's events - the ones leading up to this moment - the less he was surprised. It was so like Sherlock to play a mind game of some sort, to try something clever in order to deduce John's sentiments.

_But really,_ John thought, inwardly rolling his eyes, _Deductions via a provocatively placed mobile? _That_ was Sherlock's brilliant idea?_

_It worked, though,_ he reminded himself, _so I really haven't any reason to complain._

When Sherlock let out the first in a series of desperate moans, John decided that his lover's bizarre methods were hardly of any consequence ... as long as they continued bringing about results like this.


End file.
